Allow me to introduce our family. My name is Dawn and I am 46 years old. My husband, Elias, is 43. Our children (ages as of 2017) are Tobias (10), Eliana (8), Isaiah (6), and Buddy (4).

Elias and I wished for healthy babies, gender did not matter, yet when our first born was assigned male, my husband sat up a little straighter with his chest puffed out a little more, as we grinned at the sonogram screen. Tobias was perfect, inquisitive, active, empathic, and once his sister was born, bothersome as he raided her closet. My darling Elly, often lamented that Tobias was wearing her dresses, fancy hats, long gloves, and jewelry. My husband and I grinned at each other. We did not mind this as much as Eliana did, and we encouraged Tobias to be himself without limits.

Eventually I asked Tobias if he wanted a dress of his own. He did not. He was happy to raid his sister’s closet. At age 8 he went to a birthday party of his sister’s friend. The entire family attended, and I arrived late. I searched for Tobias and could not find him; my husband lovingly laughed at my confusion as he pointed out our boy. It still took me a while to spot him. Tobias had on a feminine wig, frilly shirt, leggings, a full face of make-up, and was swishing around the house in such a feminine manner that I had mistaken him for one of the girls! He was having the time of his life, and was the hit of the party with all the other attendees. His joy filled my heart.

I wondered if Tobias might be transgender, so I researched. I watched too many documentaries, read too many articles and books, and watched too many transgender You-Tubers. I told my husband that we would be excellent parents of a transgender child. These words would return to me years later. I also learned a lot about the sexuality spectrum that I did not know. Something new I learned is that not all drag queens are gay. One day I cuddled with Tobias on the couch and talked with him about Pride Parades, since it was that time of year, and although we had not attended any, I wondered if kids at school would talk about them. I described the people we may see in a parade, and when I described drag queens, Tobias absolutely lit up and said, “Oh, like me!” I was a bit shocked, although I don’t know why. I explained that these men are not trying to look like women; their goal is to show off femininity in a spectacular way. My boy smiled up at me with jubilance and a look of inner knowing.

I asked Tobias if he wanted to be a girl. He told me no, he is 100% boy and he really likes girl things. He described himself to me as a tom-girl. I admire that description. He grew his hair long for 2 years with the intention of donating it, which he did. Towards the end he was often mistaken for a girl, and said he didn’t mind this at all. Some mornings he uses a bit of my makeup as he gets ready for school (5th grade). As I am writing this very paragraph, he just walked up and asked if I could buy him earrings. We recently discovered that the last weekend of every month, a drag show in the cities puts on a family friendly event. We plan to attend the next one scheduled. His father and I have never felt nervous, confused or scared about Tobias expressing his tom-girl self. This is not true of the way we felt with the youngest of our family. The youngest was born, and Tobias immediately called the new baby his book end! It turns out he was quite insightful.

We named our child Lucia Genevieve, she was born into the world with lots of thick hair, and we let it grow long and curly. She was darling and grumpy. She would not tolerate wearing her long hair up, even on the hottest of days. She hated any sort of up-do. At age two she raided Isaiah’s toy chest to get at cars, action figures, and to play super hero. January of 2017, she was three years old and informed me that she was a boy. She repeated this 6-8 times a day, every day (no exaggeration), week after week, and month after month, consistently in a matter of fact fashion. She never cried or got angry. She was a boy and that was a fact, just letting us know, again and again and again.

As I noted her consistency, persistency and insistency, I sobbed weekly. I wasn’t upset that she may be transgender. I was upset because I was all Mama Bear in my head, making up stories of my fists forward, fighting fundamentalist family, school bathroom rules, doctors, insurance companies, and protecting my child from bullies and discrimination. I quickly dove back into research and shared with friends that I thought my girl may be a transgender boy. These friends were kind, yet none of them knew anything about the gender spectrum. I shared with my husband, Elias. He literally informed me that he was diving into denial, and did not wish me to share anything I was learning with him. I felt very lonely.

Early March I was introduced to a married, transgender man. He encouraged me not to label my kid as transgender, and instead focus on looking deeply into my child’s eyes, and clearly seeing my child rather than a description of my child, and fiercely loving my kid in the present moment. His advice was a game changer and dissolved my anxieties. I stopped looking at my kid as a walking problem to solve, and I got back to observing my youngest as one of the great loves of my life. March was the first time I dared to call Lucia, my boy. I remember being slightly surprised when the earth did not explode. What happened instead was that my darling, beamed at me and melted in my arms in a silly pool of pure happiness. The number of times, daily, I was informed she was a boy, dropped dramatically after that. Mama finally got it!

April came and the reverend who married me, posted an article on Facebook (FB) about a 3 year old child, assigned male at birth, who transitioned to being a girl at age 4. The author mentioned a secret support group on FB of Christian mothers of LGBTQIA+ children, and I got a hunting until I found it, and then discovered there were multiple groups! I finally found people I could talk to, and this was the greatest gift! Around that time my husband slowly began calling our kiddo a boy, having listened to me do it here and there. I quietly smiled all over our house!

The month of May arrived and 3 year old Lucia announced to the family we were to call her Buddy from now on, and that we were to drop all female pronouns and use male pronouns only. A three year old who knew the significance of pronouns, impressed me! Getting our brains to switch names and pronouns was very difficult, and I got set right away teaching Buddy the skill of offering others patience, forgiveness, and understanding. His three older siblings all had different processes towards becoming affirming. It took lots of time for everybody. The month of May also brought Buddy his first package of requested, Lightning McQueen, male underwear. He was thrilled! I felt stretched giving it to him, yet having read an article about another mother facing this same challenge, helped me greatly. June brought him male swim wear, and buying clothing from the boys section. He wore his new swim shirt and trunks every day for a week, even to church!

July had me contacting the school to enroll him in pre-K as a boy, and to my relief he finally requested a very short hair cut. I shared the news of our new son with some extended family I thought would be affirming, and they were. This was the second greatest gift I received. My heart swelled as they championed him. The third best gift was Elias. Cuddling with Buddy one day, he looked me in the eye and told me that Buddy was a perfect son, and that our parental arms and laps would forever be open to him. I cried tears of love, and then had to get jokingly mad at Elias. Are you kidding me? I spent a great amount of time researching and networking and sobbing to finally move from accepting to affirming, while my darling husband transitioned from denial to affirming with a snap of the fingers. It just wasn’t fair!

Elias and I attended two sessions with a gender counselor to make sure we were parenting correctly. The counselor told us that the best way to parent was to muddle through, and we were doing this perfectly well. I loved the description of muddling through. It made me laugh and feel more confident. Our counselor, our clergy, friends, school educators, and our medical teams all supported Buddy in being himself. There is some family on both my and Elias’ sides that are opposed to Buddy’s transition, and do not believe in the reality of a gender and sexuality spectrum. This, in an odd way, is a gift too because it began my heart searching for a way to love them as they are, rather than build up barriers against them. If love is love is love is love, as my t-shirt says, I want love to win in every direction.

Buddy came home from preschool one day in August, and told me he has a best friend named Axel whom he is going to marry. Our darling boy is gay. Buddy told me theirs was to be a prince and prince wedding with absolutely no princesses! I told him I look forward to the day I can walk him down the aisle. Buddy turned 4 years old this past September, and getting ready to blow out all of his birthday candles, he enthusiastically shouted, “Now I am a real, true boy and will be forever!” Big brother Tobias was the first to respond with, “Hooray!”

________________________________________________Serendipitydodah for Moms is a private Facebook group for moms of LGBTQ kids. Our official motto is “We Are Better Together” and our nickname is “Mama Bears”

The group is private so only members can see who is in the group and what is posted in the group. It was started in June 2014 and as of November 2018 has more than 3,700 members. For more info about the private facebook group email lizdyer55@gmail.com

Here I sit, on the longest night of the year, a woman who is somewhere in her forties who tells herself she can still ignore that unfortunate little reality. It’s the last blaring delusion I allow myself.

I have two wonderful children and a husband of 25 years. I grew up in a strict conservative Christian family. I married my husband when we were both too young to understand how crazy we were to think that we were old enough to marry. I was only 19-years-old when we married and then we immediately moved out of state and started the great adventure of growing up together and building our own little world on our own terms.

I escaped from my family’s dysfunctional and spiritually, emotionally, physically and sexually abusive household (the Duggar family is not a freakish anomaly and hits way too close to my childhood reality). I was determined to create a stable environment, where love wasn’t something that I continually had to work so hard for. That’s a hard habit to break and it seems like a never ending process for me. My husband and I decided to strive for the perfect family environment that we always longed for. We are by no means perfect, but we continually aimed for unconditional love.

My husband is a keeper alright. His father walked out on his family when my husband was an infant. Despite the absence of a role model, Dan managed to become an amazing father to our children. His quiet strength never ceases to remind me that he will always be the love of my life. Plus, he somehow manages to put up with my goofy self.

We were blessed with two beautiful children, a boy and a girl. We worked hard and were fortunate enough to live in financial security. We had attained the American Dream. We raised our children in the south, in what is often jokingly referred to as the buckle of the Bible Belt and attempted to give our children a strong foundation built on a loving God and a loving family. The God of love that I was denied knowing in my childhood.

When my youngest started school, I went back to college and attained a degree in psychology at a well known southern Baptist university. I began working in nonprofit mental health organizations as a crisis counselor and then a mental health social worker. It was in this atmosphere that my son, Zak became a staunch Republican. I, myself, had always been a socially liberal leaning independent, rocking the boat sometimes in my university classroom discussions and within our southern conservative church. While I was working with the underprivileged and becoming more aware of my growing social liberal views, my son was listening to Rush Limbaugh and growing in a different direction. There were times my son and I butted heads concerning his political beliefs. However, he was such a good Christian kid, so morally upstanding, what parent in their right mind would argue with his strict moral code and convictions. I supported immigration, social welfare, and gay rights, but I kept my mouth shut in our home to avoid arguments with my son and husband. I should have argued. I wish I had argued more and forced him to see things other than in black and white…moral or sinful. My son once called me a cultural relativist, as though it were the worst thing he could think of.

By the age of twelve Zak was blogging about abstract political and economic concepts that I couldn’t completely comprehend. My husband and I monitored his internet use and observed that he was being followed by well known conservative politicians and journalists who discussed with him intense opinions on economic policies and political philosophies. We would shake our heads and laugh and then tell him it was past his bedtime and to turn off his computer, that we knew he was a kid even if his readers had no idea. Outside of his political writings, he was a nervous kid. He struggled with bullies at school. Always, he had problems relating with his peers and felt more confident talking to adults about issues that most kids were oblivious to. Looking back, I knew he was different…but I could never put my finger on how or why. When a group of boys called him a fag, I told him that he should ignore them. They were ridiculous. I should have stood up for LGBT rights then, but I didn’t. He found friendships in church youth groups and video gamers, he loved hockey and political blogging. I was always so worried about internet porn and online predators, I never imagined that it would be his strict conservative internet connections that would become his greatest predators.

Skip forward a few years…we relocated back to our home state of Michigan when my husband got an offer for his dream job and my son was in high school. My mother was immediately diagnosed with breast cancer and then my father had open heart surgery. Having forgiven my family for past abuses and having had been away so long, I felt it was my responsibility to come full circle and take care of my aging parents. They sold their own home and moved to the same small town that we had settled in. They became a daily fixture in our household and we offered whatever means we had to assist them with their financial and physical needs. I put my career on the back burner and became a full time care giver to the people that had given me life. I told myself that I was doing the right thing. What I didn’t realize was I was slipping right back into those old emotionally abusive patterns that I now see were generations old. I was so eager to find love and acceptance from my parents. For the first time in years, I began silently suffering from nightmares, panic attacks, and struggling with self confidence and depression.

My son graduated from high school and accepted an academic scholarship to attend his first pick college, Hillsdale College, an extremely conservative college. If you’re a Rush Limbaugh or a Sean Hannity fan, you’ve heard it advertised, no doubt. All of the sudden he blossomed socially, he was academically successful, and he was making amazing social connections with high profile people who were promising him a future of his choosing. He had finally found his fit. For a while.

The summer before his sophomore year, I noticed a change in him. He seemed depressed and more anxious than I’d ever seen him, he was questioning his religious faith and his political beliefs. I just threw it out there one day while we sat talking in the car that there was nothing that could ever make me love him less or make me freak out, even if he told me he were gay, I wouldn’t freak out. I have no idea why I blurted that out, but he immediately responded that he thought he was bisexual but that he didn’t really want to discuss it. I just told him it was all going to be okay and to let me know what he decided. I actually thought that it was something to decide, what kind of car to buy or what his college major would be. I left it alone. Meanwhile, inside, I guess that I kind of was freaking out, worried about what this meant in the conservative environment he had surrounded himself with. I began researching peer reviewed articles concerning how to help LGBT youth in crisis. I felt so helpless with this secret. Three months later he came out to my husband and me as gay, confirmed to us immediately that this was not his choice and then asked me if I thought God saw him as an abomination. Up until that moment, I had not really concerned myself with what that means. Was it a sin? Was it even possible that this beautiful child that God had given me was somehow an abomination? I couldn’t see that being feasible. I said a little prayer that if I was going to err, I was going to err on the side of unconditional love and told my son no. I saw him only as my son and if I loved him unconditionally then surely his creator loved him even more.

He decided that he was living a lie and that he had no choice but to come out at his college, but wasn’t ready to come out to our other family members. He came out of the closet to us and my husband and I promptly moved into our own lonely closet. He said that he had chosen this college despite knowing their view of homosexuality, but that he felt that his sexuality didn’t define him. He could just put off pursuing any relationships until after he had graduated. But that he now needed to live honestly, even if he was still unready for a relationship. He knew of no other gays there. He was so naive in his 19-year-old skin. I was terrified. I began to notice all of the anti gay statements other family members used. I watched the news and it was as though all that I could see was how hateful the world was towards the LGBT community. What was this gay agenda that they kept talking about? Would my own child ever be free to love another human being the way I loved his father without facing judgement and hate at every turn? Would I ever be able to have grandchildren? If I did, would they too suffer at the hands of unloving Christians who deemed them to be created in deviance and immorality? Why couldn’t people see that homosexuality was about love and companionship, instead of defining it narrowly as a choice of sexual position? How could anyone define the beautiful and multifaceted person that was my child, the amazing and unique human that I loved under one narrow, socially constructed label? Every homophobic comment felt like a new cut that I couldn’t protect myself from. I suddenly had a glimpse of what it felt to be in Zak’s world. It was excruciating.

His life in college quickly turned into a nightmare. Word traveled fast at that small college. He was shunned by his peers, the college administration deemed him a problem and the dean of men told incoming freshmen not to associate themselves with him because he was unstable. Despite the fact that he had not yet experienced his first kiss, he was called out as a sexual deviant at public speaking events and in the classroom. One “well meaning” student even took it upon himself to corner him in the dorm bathroom and attempt to cast out his homosexual demons because he had suffered a panic attack which had caused a stress induced nose bleed, apparently proof that he was under the influence of Satan. Another fellow student, who was the college academic superstar and was in his previous friend group, urged my son to kill himself so there would be “one less gay soiling the world”. (The majority of this I found out after the fact while in counseling) In a few short months, I watched my son slowly slip away. My husband and I tried to convince him to transfer schools and threatened to pull our financial backing if he didn’t…he refused to be a quitter. He thought that he could change them, make them see things differently. All of this took place in the midst the harsh political climate surrounding the Supreme Court decision on gay marriage.

My son was the only openly gay student in a college that openly condemned the LGBT community and referred to them in a college wide email as an abomination that they prayed would be abolished by God. Zak became a target for all of their homophobic pent up religious, righteous rage. He was tortured, he received numerous internet threats by email, on his blog, on Facebook. He finally confided to me during a panic attack, middle of the night phone call that he was feeling suicidal. I dropped everything, drove three hours to find him curled up in his car. I took him off campus for the weekend, tried to talk sense to him. Still he would not come home. I wish I had forced him to come home.

I got him into counseling where he was, but that entire tiny little town seemed controlled by the same insane mentality. Even the counselor insisted that it was best that he continue his education at that “wonderful college, with their classical educational tradition and limitless opportunities and social connections”. It was a living nightmare. I was in constant fear for his emotional and physical safety.

In the midst of it all, he was outed by a friend to my family on Facebook. Regardless of his emotional state, my mother insisted that he had asked for it, everything that he was going through was of his own making. He was reaping what he had sown. Sinful nature equals a life of sorrow. She continually announced at family gatherings that she was praying for Zak’s healing from his homosexuality, as if it were some infection that God could remove. My abusive brother claimed that it was my soft parenting that had caused him to become homosexual, that and the fact that my husband didn’t hunt or fish with him and pursue manly activities. He pointed to the fact that we raised a daughter who was a strong female that could shoot a rifle better than most men and had a black belt in martial arts. We hadn’t stuck to culturally appropriate gender norms in our family and it had emasculated our son and made him think ungodly thoughts. My sister stated that she loved him despite of his “lifestyle choice” but told me that she hoped that he wasn’t going to be “one of those gays that pushed it in other people’s faces”. What in the hell did that even mean?

It finally clicked one Easter Sunday, while we gathered with the family that I was born into and bowed our heads to bless our meal. My mother said the prayer, which she promptly twisted into a plea for God to cast out the homosexual inclinations in my son so that our family could know peace in His love. My mother actually stood there and attempted to pray away the gay! She had judged my son to be a sexual deviant, while my unrepentant sexually abusive brother (her son) stood in the same room nodding in earnest agreement. Something clicked that day. Something broke in me. Or perhaps, something already broken within me finally began to heal. I saw that I had somehow permitted an all too common false Christian narrative the power over my own self worth. I had given an outright lie way too much space in my mind. I silently looked up from the prayer that I was passively accepting and took in the faces of my my lifelong abuser and the people who had enabled that abuse, the people who were now mislabeling my own child as the deviant, and the chains that bound me finally began to crumble. The hypocrisy of it all made me want to vomit on the meal I had slaved over all afternoon in order to feed the people around me who were starving my soul of love. I wish that I could say that I cast those chains away in one fell swoop, but it doesn’t happen that simply. I’ve had to perform countless emotional surgeries on my own heart, removing each link of the chain. It’s been a painful and tedious process. The current political climate and the constant barrage of social discussions concerning our nation’s vapid rape culture certainly haven’t made it any easier.

Regardless, I saw that I had no choice but to untangle my parents and siblings from my life. Not just for my son’s sake but for my own. How could I expect my son to leave his toxic environment within that conservative college, while I remained immersed in my toxic family who refused to respect my boundaries and continually held me frozen in emotional blackmail. How could we survive amongst those that condemned my son’s sexuality yet condoned and secreted their own history of sexual child abuse. To this day, my mother blames our severed relationship on my intolerance of their religious opinions concerning my son’s sexuality. That pains me, but I know the truth.

When I attempted to seek guidance from the pastor of the church we attended at that time, I was told that it would be better if I sought a different pastor from a different church for that “sort of problem”, this pastor was too busy to deal with this politically problematic subject. I called other churches, I couldn’t find anywhere in our community that was open to discussing the subject. I could not locate a house of God where we were affirmed as a loving family, rather that merely tolerated. For the first time in my life, I was spiritually homeless. I had become a refugee of sorts. I felt like a wounded victim in a ditch that day, no Good Samaritan in site to stanch the bleeding in my soul. I haven’t been to church since.

Meanwhile, my son was on the same quest three hours away from me in the little town of Hillsdale, Michigan. Church and his strong belief in God had always been his refuge and source of strength throughout the storms of his young life. No Christian church in the community would accept him. They all had no place for the LGBT community, especially with the political atmosphere that was going on. He grew bitter against Christianity, I couldn’t really blame him. I was having my own crisis of faith.

Finally, summer break came and my son came home to us a shell of the young man who had gone off to college two years before. He was rail thin and hunched over, he looked to me like a prisoner of war from a documentary on WWII. My husband and I decided to find him a therapist close to home and grew determined that he would never return to Hillsdale. A few days later, my son woke me up at six o’clock in the morning confused, delusional, scared, and told me that he wanted to hurt himself. He had received more internet threats the evening before. We had no choice but to take him to the hospital for a psych evaluation. It was a horror that no amount of education could ever prepare me for. Having worked in the mental health field, I understood the lingo too well. I knew the side effects of the antipsychotics they put him on. I feared their tentative diagnoses. I had professionally worked closely with mentally ill teens admitted to psychiatric hospitals…it was so different to see my own son there. He spent days curled into a ball, crying and confused. He was afraid to eat the food because it was the same food service company as at the college. He thought they were stalking him. He clung to me at visitation times. His one friend from college, who would later become his boyfriend, visited him and stayed with us. Together we held him, combed his hair, stroked his curled up back. His hospital roommate’s mother became outraged. She told the nurse that her son would not be roommates with a homosexual. She threatened him, saying that gays were sexual predators. How could this be happening? Couldn’t she see that he was broken? That his 105 lbs, emaciated frame was incapable of being any kind of threat to her football player sized son? Was there anyplace safe for him? I slipped into social worker gear, advocated for him, I had to get him out of there. Then bringing his friend into our home, I realized that I had two broken kids to deal with. At the time, his friend had no one who truly accepted him within his own family. He was scared and angry and sad, and my son’s breakdown triggered his own grief and anguish.

My son was eventually diagnosed with PTSD. With medication, outpatient therapy, and unconditional love, we watched him slowly come back to us. My husband and I had a whole lot of learning to do that year. In all of our parenting research and planning, we had never considered how to handle having a gay son. I felt so inept, so tired, so broken. We’ve adjusted, we’ve grown, and we’re both better for it. That first year though, it was a a tough one.

All throughout this long haul, my teenage daughter has grown into this amazing, empathetic young woman. After witnessing her brother’s struggles, she started a gay-straight alliance in her small, rural high school. It didn’t gain her any popularity points as we live in a very conservative area, but she has been able to reach out to and give support to some kids who truly needed it. My daughter is amazing and kind and she’s so much smarter and braver than her mom could ever imagine being. Earlier this year, she told me that she thinks she might be bisexual but that she’s still figuring it all out. She isn’t ready to act on it or come out in any grand way. She said that she’s unsure of what she feels, she just didn’t want to shock me if someday she fell in love with a woman. Whatever happens, she knows she’s loved and accepted. I suppose I’ll eventually see where that path leads when she’s ready to walk it.

My son fell in love with the other student who had also survived the torture of Hillsdale College and had graduated the year before Zak came out there. Together, he and Mason have found healing and acceptance in new communities, and unconditional love inside our home. They’ve had their trials, their own separate issues to work through. I don’t know if their relationship will withstand the difficulties of living separated by miles, as they live in different cities, but I have faith that they are each capable of greatness, whether it be together or apart. They also both claim to be atheists now and avid libertarians. The atheist title breaks my heart a little, but I am confident that the one who created their hearts, intimately knows their hearts, understands their responses to the social abuses that they’ve suffered, and loves them unconditionally. Mason comes home to us each holiday from his new adventures of living and working in Washington DC. As I look around at our crazy, silly group of laughing kids, I feel blessed in being surrounded by beautiful hearts.

Zak returned to college. This time at a public university in a beautifully diverse community. It’s an hour away from his previous school, yet it might as well be on an entirely different planet. I’ve successfully resisted most urges to be a helicopter mom since he moved into his new apartment and that struggle was somewhat painful. It’s been scary, wondering if he’s truly okay now. He finally seems to be putting all of it behind him and is slowly moving forward. Other closeted LGBT people from his college have connected with him, and he has offered himself as a safe haven from the oppressive storms when needed. He’s still an introvert and he sometimes struggles with anxiety (I do too), but he’s come a heck of a long way.

My daughter has also spread her wings and moved off to college. She’s a beautiful force to be reckoned with. She’s smart, she’s kind, and I cannot be more proud as I watch her blaze her own unique path. I watch in awe, as she demonstrates to me on a daily basis what modern women are capable of in this ever changing world. Whatever path she travels, I will always be there to cheer her on and applaud her strength and courage.

We’ve all come a long way. I’m such a proud and thankful mama bear. I’m still learning every day to be a stronger woman and a better parent than I was yesterday. I still struggle with the old concepts of God and all the fears that the evangelical church that I was raised in instilled in my mind. Sometimes it seems overwhelming and it brings me to my knees. But I keep fighting to get back up, determined to do my part in making the world a kinder and safer place for kids like my own.

There was a time when I thought I had it all figured out…religion, philosophical perspectives, parenting styles, psychology…ha how silly of me! Maybe I will never have it all figured out. Maybe it doesn’t need to be figured out. I am increasingly convinced that the greatest gifts in life cannot be neatly packaged and labeled by society’s standards. My greatest gifts have come in the midst of chaos and are packaged in asymmetrical boxes decorated in rainbow ribbons, reminding me that real love is immeasurable, undefinable, and timeless.

________________________________________________Serendipitydodah for Moms is a private Facebook group for moms of LGBTQ kids. Our official motto is “Better Together” and our nickname is “Mama Bears”

The group is private so only members can see who is in the group and what is posted in the group. It was started in June 2014 and as of November 2018 has more than 3,700 members. For more info about the private facebook group email lizdyer55@gmail.com

We had 15 special guest events – 12 of those were Facebook Live Streaming events.

We added more than 950 moms to our community this year.

We continue to have tremendous levels of engagement. More than 75% of our members are active in the group each month and that is a very high percentage rate for any group.

We started the Mama Bear Story Project in January. The project is a collection of portraits and autobiographical essays from members of Serendipitydodah for Moms. The portraits and essays are posted on a public Facebook page and on the Serendipitydodah blog. There were 24 essays published this year and those essays had a combined total of more than 90,000 views!!

In November we partnered with the Banner Blanket Project, which was started by Mama Bear Anita Cockrum, and more than 30 no sew fleece blankets have already been made and sent out to lgbtq teens and young adults who have lost the support of their family due to their lgbtq status.

AND we started two extension groups … Serendipitydodah MTK is an extension of the main group created especially for moms of trans kids and Serendipitydodah Blue Ocean Faith is an extension group that was created to serve as a space for members of Serendipitydodah for Moms to connect with and become a part of the Blue Ocean Faith Ann Arbor community via it’s online presence.

The Serendipitydodah Mama Bears continue to love their kids well, learn and grow together, share support and information with each other and people outside of the group, change hearts and minds, and support the lgbtq community and their advocates.

We are better together!!

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Serendipitydodah for Moms is a private Facebook group created as an extension of the Serendipitydodah blog. The group is set up so that only members can see who is in it and what is posted there. The group was started in June 2014 and as of December 2017 has more than 2,400 members. The space was especially created for open minded Christian moms who have LGBTQ kids and want to develop and maintain healthy, loving, authentic relationships with their LGBTQ kids. The members call themselves “Mama Bears” and their motto is “We are better together” In addition to providing a space for members to share info and support one another, a special guest is added each month for a short time. The guests include authors, pastors, LGBTQ people, bloggers and public speakers.

On April 8, 2014 my life was changed forever. That day marked the beginning of a painful journey my family would be forced to travel. It is only now that I can honestly say it was a journey worth taking, and it took a long time to come to this realization.

My husband was approaching his 10th anniversary of ministry in our current church, as a Southern Baptist Pastor. We were in the middle of revival services and he called me at work to ask me out for lunch. I always love a lunch date with my husband, but when he asked during such a busy week, I knew something was up. When I pressed him, he told me that our youngest son, Addison, had told some kids in the youth group that he is gay. When I heard those words, my heart sank. I felt true panic. I couldn’t breathe. I was terrified.

Although it was a shock, I must admit it really came as no surprise. We had suspected this for most of Addison’s life, yet we dared not speak of it. But now it was real. The one thing I had dreaded and feared most for my son. He had spoken the words we would have never ever said ourselves. He said, “I’m gay.” The news had already spread to other parents and church staff, leaving us no option to handle this privately as a family. We were forced to deal with it immediately, and there was much more to consider than just our son, even though he was, by far, most important. We were a Southern Baptist minister’s family and I knew what that meant for us. Fear overtook me as I imagined what lay ahead for my family.

I used what little time I had that afternoon to research, “How to talk to your kid about being gay.” I didn’t find much, but I did come across these statistics. 40% of homeless youth are LGBT. 30% of gay youth attempt suicide near the age of 15. Almost half of gay and lesbian teens have attempted suicide more than once. Upon learning this, my mind raced back to when Addison was 14 years old. He went through the normal awkward teenager stage just as his brothers did before him, but it was more than just that. He was angry, and he seemed to hate everything about his life. One night, I caught him on his way upstairs to his bedroom, carrying a ziplock bag of pills. It was a mixture of Advil and Tylenol. His excuse was that he wanted to keep medicine upstairs for convenience whenever he had a headache. The youth minister revealed to us shortly after, that in a youth group meeting, Addison shared having suicidal thoughts. Around that same time, he came to us wanting to be re- baptized. He said he just didn’t feel like he had been saved before. We were very puzzled by this, but Scott counseled him and he prayed to receive Christ, followed by baptism in our church. We watched him very closely during that time, and things eventually got better. But looking back, I realized what my precious son must have been going through years earlier and it scared me to death!

That night, after an emotional wait, we finally had the opportunity to talk with Addison. We approached the conversation with an undeniable love for our son on one hand, and our deeply imbedded conservative theology on the other. When we confronted him, he admitted to telling his friends. He had participated in an “honest hour” online where people can ask questions and you must answer honestly. Someone asked if he was gay and he simply said, “Yes”. He did not intend to come out that way, it just happened. I never will forget hearing Scott tell him how disappointed we were that he had made this choice, and then seeing the look on my son’s face when he said, “Dad, this is not my choice! Why would anyone choose this? If I could choose anything, I would choose not to be this way!” He said he had prayed every night for years for God to change him, only to wake up the next morning, still the same. He had always heard from us that being gay is a sin. He heard his dad preach it from the pulpit, and he heard me say it at home. We had unknowingly created in him such a fear of rejection that he was too afraid to talk to us about it. He said he believed what the Bible said, but he couldn’t understand why God would say it’s wrong and still create him like that. It was at that moment I began to wonder the same thing, as I sat there with my heart breaking for him. Scott ended the conversation that night by making a deal with Addison. They both agreed to make it a matter of serious prayer and seek God’s direction concerning this. Scott told him if they both did that, he was convinced God would change one of them. I began praying too. I desperately wanted to pray for my son not to be gay, but instead I just prayed for answers. I had so many questions! Could it be that my son really was born gay? If so, why would God’s word clearly condemn homosexuality when it’s not a choice? Why would God give us a gay son, knowing it meant the “death penalty” for a Southern Baptist minister? We couldn’t reject our son, but were we wrong to accept him? How could anything good come from this? It felt like a curse!

For the next several days, well…actually weeks, I grieved. It took a conscious effort to even breathe as I merely went through the motions of my daily routine. I finally came to terms with the fact that this was real. It was not going away. I grieved the loss of my hopes and dreams I had for my son. The dream that one day he would marry one of those pretty girls he hung out with. The hope of him giving me grandchildren. I looked back at my son’s life and wondered where I went wrong. What could I have done differently? Did I mother him too closely? I guess I had a full blown pity party. Then one day I realized that this wasn’t really about me. It wasn’t about me at all. My son was gay. What did this mean for him? It meant that he would have to face prejudice throughout his entire life. Prejudice from people just like me who saw this as a sinful choice. A prejudice that could cost him family, friendships, employment, safety and basic civil rights. A prejudice that could leave him exiled from the church, and even worse, could cause him to leave his faith behind. This was my son. My son. MY SON! And then suddenly, I felt myself go quickly from “poor pitiful me” to “protective Mama Bear!” I went from, “Oh my God my son is gay!” to, “Yeah, my son is gay, what have you got to say about that?!” That’s when I realized God was changing me.

Meanwhile, my husband was devoting every spare minute he had to research, desperately searching for answers to reconcile our faith with our reality. He plowed through the Hebrew and Greek, researched Biblical culture, and read every book he could find on the subject. The more he read, the more he began to understand the scripture like he never had before. God was changing him too. I remembered the deal that Scott made with Addison that night in our bedroom, and I realized it wasn’t our son that God wanted to change. It was us.

I wish I could say that everything was easy from that point on, but actually, that’s when things began to get worse. Not only Scott’s job, but his career was hanging by a thread. We knew that if he left the church because of this, no other Southern Baptist Church would want him. What would happen to our family? Would we have to sell our house? How would we pay the bills? Were we facing bankruptcy? We hoped and prayed for the best, but tried to prepare ourselves for the worst, while keeping these worries from our son as best we could. Scott began looking for other job opportunities, but with no success. Ministry was the only thing Scott knew and he had poured his heart into nothing else for over 30 years. We feared for our family’s future, but we wanted to honor God with our actions. I knew it would be difficult to hold back words as our family went under attack, but Scott and I made a conscious decision to treat the church with the
same grace we desired for our family. We were convinced that God would protect us somehow if we trusted Him through this.

People were beginning to gossip in the church. Imagine that! Scott tackled it head on, meeting with the deacons to address all their concerns. He shared deeply from his heart. He told them he was studying to find answers and he didn’t know how it would affect his theology. He assured them that if and when he found himself in conflict with SBC doctrine, he would resign. The deacons said they were in 100% support of Scott, but they had some conditions. They wanted him to take three weeks off “to deal with our family crisis.” (Our family was just fine; the only crisis was with them.) They also wanted assurance that Addison wouldn’t try to “sway” any of the other young people to become gay (yes, really!) and prohibited him from talking about himself or doing anything “gay” on church property. And they wanted Scott to address the church when he returned, announcing to everyone that our son is gay, but that he did not support him and still firmly held to his beliefs according to Southern Baptist doctrine.

Scott did take a couple of weeks off. He honestly needed the break from the deacons! He used that time to research everything he could get his hands on, and we prayed for guidance on how to handle conflict with the church. Our son was our main priority, but we loved our church and we desperately wanted to protect it too. Scott decided against making a church-wide announcement. He met with the deacons when he returned and explained that for him to make a public announcement about our family’s personal affairs would be no different from them announcing all their family secrets. Were they willing to line up behind him to make their announcements as well? Nothing more was said concerning an announcement, but it made me wonder why all the attention was on our son, when all he did was go to school and come straight home to a few chores and homework every day. He had no social life. He wasn’t “doing” anything.

As time went on, the tension only grew as rumors were spread, private meetings were held, Scott’s sermons were picked apart, our parenting was criticized, and our family was put under the microscope like never before. Adults were even stalking Addison on social media, forcing him to close his Facebook account. We pulled him out of the youth group his senior year to protect him from the adult youth leaders, whom we no longer trusted. I was the Women’s Ministry Leader and very involved with the ladies of the church. Those that knew of our situation began avoiding me like a plague. I lost a best friend in the church who just couldn’t support me through this. Another close friend asked me, “Does Addison think he can still be a Christian now that he’s decided to be gay?” One of the ladies suggested my son had a disease and she was sorry we didn’t know about it soon enough to get him help. Another said, “I just want you to know I love your boys, AND Addison.”

Those words hurt me deeply, but what hurt most was the silence from the staff and leadership of the church, who knew our family was hurting. They did nothing to support us or minister to us. Maybe they just didn’t know how. I realized the vast majority of members were not even aware of the issue, and we tried very hard to keep it that way. But I felt so completely alone and isolated. It was a struggle to continue, putting on my smile week after week, as if nothing was wrong. As much as we tried to protect him, Addison became aware that some of the adults didn’t want him to be there. I’ll never forget him saying to me, “Mom, if they don’t want me at church, I can just stay home and Dad can have church without me there.” I told my son, “The day you stay home, I’ll be staying home with you!” My heart ached for him, and there was absolutely no one that could understand.

Friendships were lost, but God was so gracious. I prayed for people I could talk to, people who had been where we were. I was randomly searching the internet one day and landed on The Gay Christian Network (GCN). There, I found a wonderful support group of Christian people, but not like the Christians I was surrounded by at church. These people knew what it was like to be judged by other Christians and exiled from their churches. These people were gay Christians, and they became my new best friends. They were patient and understanding, even though they knew I saw them as sinners. They traveled my journey with me, treating me with unconditional love and compassion as they watched God change me right before their eyes.

Another life saver for me was a private Facebook group of moms that I found. You name it; these moms have been through it, from being outcast from their churches, losing their jobs, having their spouse leave, being disowned by family, and some even losing their gay child to suicide. I’ve cried with these women and they have cried with me. Although I may never meet most of them in person, they are my true friends.

Out of all our church members, God blessed us with two great couples that stood by us and loved our family through the fire. I realize the courage it took to support us, and the cost to them was great. Scott and I desperately needed them when others betrayed us, and I’m so thankful for their friendship.

With Addison’s permission, we told our family about his news early on. His brothers said they had known all along, and they both agreed that he is their brother and they will love him no matter what. Aaron, his oldest brother, said, “If anyone gives Addison a hard time about it they’ll only do it once!” It made me happy to know his brothers had his back. My sister offered her shoulder for me to cry on, and I used it often. That’s what sisters are for, and I’m thankful she was willing to listen. Scott agonized over telling his mom, but when he finally did, she said, “Well I could’ve told you that young man was gay years ago but it wasn’t for me to say!” My mother was supportive as well, although neither mom really understands what it means to be gay. They both think Addison could change his mind someday and they’re holding onto the hope that a pretty girl might turn his head.

As time went on, God continued to reconstruct our faith. One day Scott said to me, “I’ve changed and I don’t think the church can handle me anymore.” He had come to the place where he could no longer continue to pastor the church with integrity. It wasn’t even about our son anymore. My husband was not the same person he had been a year earlier, and there was no going back. He’s always been one to follow God’s call even when it doesn’t make sense, and even when there is no safety net. In May of 2015 he met with our personnel team leader to share his plans to resign, without another job waiting. Our prayer for the past year had been for God to show us if and when to close that door. Now we had to pray for Him to open a new one, quickly! God answered that prayer when a Chaplain from Hospice of West Alabama contacted Scott, asking him to submit a resume. God rewarded my husband’s faith by providing a fulfilling job where he could minister to families and make a real difference. Although this position created a substantial pay cut, we knew it was God’s answer to our specific prayer for provision. He announced his resignation to the church, and was able to leave under the best of circumstances; yet, it was by far the hardest thing we’ve ever done in ministry. We’ve left churches before, but this move was different from all the others. Not only were we leaving an 11-year pastorate, we were leaving our denomination behind. Thirty-two years of ministry as we had known it was now over.

We’ve considered visiting to find a new church home, but for me personally, the risk is just too great. I will never subject my family, particularly my gay son, to abuse by another church, ever. After the church family we loved and gave so much of ourselves to for eleven years chose not to support us, I can’t imagine how a new church, with no connection to us would fully accept our family. We no longer consider ourselves Southern Baptists. We’re just Jesus followers. And I must say, it feels good!

We’ve been accused of compromising our beliefs to accommodate our son, but nothing could be further from the truth. I believe God gifted us with a gay son and used him to bring about much needed change. Sometimes it takes something huge to get us to reconsider our lifelong interpretation of God’s Word. Our son’s life was important enough to search for the truth. And it was in our search that we discovered having a gay son was not the problem, but rather the means to finding the solution!

Our journey has been difficult to say the least. But God showed His grace to our family by offering protection, provision, and now healing.

What once seemed like a curse has turned into the biggest blessing of my life! I have changed and I would never want to go back to the way I was before.I am learning more and more every day what it means to REALLY love people like Jesus. To lay judgement aside, to show grace and understanding, and to walk a few steps in another’s shoes.

I’ve taught Addison all his life to love everyone, and to never put himself above another person. But in the last year, I’ve learned that more from him than I could have ever taught. I’m so proud of him. My son is brave, loving, smart, funny, creative, sensitive, caring, sooo handsome, …and oh yeah, he’s GAY! His two brothers are pretty amazing too!

One of my friends from GCN sent me these words that I have hung onto. “There is a difference between acting like a Christian and acting like Jesus. When you act like a Christian everyone at church will praise you and reward you. But Heaven help the Christian who starts acting like Jesus. When believers act like Jesus there is a price to pay. You won’t be understood and the church won’t be very happy. But the end result is a relationship with the living God that is real, and honest and loving. It is full of grace.”

These days my focus is pretty simple. I just want to act like Jesus.

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Jackie’s husband, Scott McQueen, a former Southern Baptist pastor of 31 years, has written Reasonable Doubt: A Case for LGBTQ Inclusion in the Institutions of Marriage and Church. The book is being published by CanyonWalker Press and will be available through Amazon and other outlets in paperback and e-book in January, 2018.

________________________________________________Serendipitydodah for Moms is a private Facebook group for moms of LGBTQ kids. Our official motto is “We Are Better Together” and our nickname is “Mama Bears” The group is set up so that only members can see who is in the group and what is posted there. It was started in June 2014 and presently has more than 2,000 members. For more info email lizdyer55@gmail.com

“Get over yourself, mom,” he snapped at me, toward the end of his junior year of college. “Don’t be so judgmental about something you know nothing about.” And he was right, and it stung, because we don’t talk to each other like this. We’ve always been friends. Always.

Oh, Lord, I thought, as we ended the phone conversation abruptly. My son was 2,065 miles away in a distinctly gay-unfriendly small town in Wisconsin. Why can’t he just be “normal” gay? Now this? I had been terrified for him for most of that year. I watch the news and read the newspaper. I know the things that can happen.

“This” was his upcoming Annual College Drag Show. They had asked him to emcee, and perform. And he was excited to talk to me about it. Until he wasn’t. Until I made it “unsafe.”

So I called him back, and asked him to help me understand.

I started by watching Paris is Burning, a dated but informative documentary. Roger Ebert writes a great movie review describing it in detail. Look it up. I cried during a portion of it. I saw things I didn’t want to see. And now I couldn’t un-see them. I read books about young gay men. And I cried then, too. “Mom, you’re not happy unless you’re feeling guilty about something,” he once told me. Guilty as charged, your Honor.

I suppose my biggest fear was that he was a woman in a man’s body. Or some sort of weird sexual fetish with women’s clothing that I didn’t understand. Kill me now and let me go down as a martyr. I can’t do this. My carefully crafted family portrait might be showing signs of crumble. And I couldn’t talk to anyone. And then I did. But that’s another story for another time.

This would complicate anybody’s life, I suppose. And I was probably not thinking about him. I was thinking about me. Shame on me.

We watched season after season of Ru Paul’s Drag Race together off and on for two years, and I began to understand the world of drag. It is performance art. Music, makeup as artistic pallet, and fashion as a personal expression. And comedy and pathos and drama. All things that have been a part of his internal makeup from the beginning. I was even seeing a tiny bit of gender fluidity by this point that didn’t seem quite so scary. Even a bit progressive. I was changing, too.

Not a woman. Always a man. Just gay. I took a deep breath and jumped in. It’s just Marshall.

In January of 2015 I told him, “Maybe you should come home.” And on July 4, 2015, he did. He found a job teaching piano at a music academy in Portland, rented an apartment, and set about pursing his passion. Within a month he was performing at CC Slaughter’s, and I entered a gay bar for the first time. I’m not sure what I was expecting. Sex in the bathroom, I suppose. Den of iniquity.

Instead what I found…was just a bar.

As I watched the show, the lineup of various drag queens’ rotating numbers, I could feel Marshall cringing for his mother in the audience. And I think I did cringe a bit. This was certainly out of the comfort zone for this mild mannered church lady, former Chevy Suburban driving soccer-type mom, librarian-like court reporter, who writes a column about books.

I have been back to CC’s so many times that I’ve lost count. Particularly meaningful was the performance last year during Pride weekend, after the shootings in Orlando. “It could have been us,” they said. I had been coming monthly to CC’s for a year. And “us”…was me.

Marshall started his own solo show at Sante Bar, and is now the only live music performing drag queen in Portland. This former classical pianist now plays his electronic piano and sings. He is an entertainer, and has a loyal following. CC’s, Sante Bar. And now he has added Shotskis Woodfired Eats in Salem to his list of venues. He has performed there twice, and recently he announced they had given him his own show, billed to be a “family friendly” event.

And I am proud of my son.

My Facebook image has changed. I have morphed from church high school youth group leader, and the clean tidy image that goes along with that responsibility, to outspoken gay rights supporter. And I’m not apologetic. My life has changed, and for the better. More real. More honest. And in truth, I’ve seen my own Christian faith grow deeper as I’ve been forced to delve into issues that previously were irrelevant.

I used to say, “God says no,” and that was good enough for me. And I’m incredibly embarrassed. Until I started watching. And reading. And listening. In fact, when Marshall first came out to me, I asked him, “What if you’re wrong? What if you are going to burn in hell and I didn’t do everything I could to stop it?” (I was mildly melodramatic, fresh from reading the Left Behind book series and literally pictured Marshall “Left Behind.”) And it was lucky that we had the relationship that we did. Because he laughed. “Oh, mom. Always mom.” A woman once told me, in that knowing sort of way that one Christian says to another, “I think the bible’s pretty clear.” And I feared she was right.

She was wrong. The bible isn’t “pretty clear.” But that’s a can of worms not to be opened here, but for each of us to wrestle with on our own, about any number of things.

Marshall was kind of a rock star in his Salem days. He played piano competitively and consistently took home the First Place trophy. As a church organist from the age of 12, he has subbed in a good many of our churches. He excelled academically and was well liked by his teachers and fellow squeaky clean Christian youth of the day. Elected prom king, and I’m sure his date was pleased. He had the girls. The “right” kind of successes. And in truth his mother had the envy of other mothers. I hope I wasn’t awful. One of “those” moms. My family looked good from the outside. And I was pleased. But I had secrets, too.

Marshall had a secret, and it was tearing him up inside. And my heart aches for that boy who clandestinely cut that same skin I had so lovingly rubbed baby oil on. It happens. And I ache for all the boys. And girls, too. The ones with “the secret.”

“How’s Marshall doing?” I’m asked almost daily as I float through my life of Winco, Walgreens, and downtown Salem, Oregon. I have three sons, all rock stars in their own right, but because Marshall was “out front,” I suppose that’s the one that is most often remembered. Everybody loves a winner.

This double degree classically trained music conservatory graduate with a piano performance major recently performed Madonna’s “Vogue,” that he had arranged…himself. The crowd responded. They got up and danced. Tipped wildly. He showed off a coat that he sewed himself, and I was glad. I hated home ec. But my son is sewing his own clothes.

The same kid who soloed with the Oregon Symphony is having his own show at Shotski’s. In Salem. His hometown. Why are we surprised?

To the next person who hasn’t kept up with the times, and asks the question, “How’s Marshall doing?” See for yourself. He’s coming to Salem. It may look like a different package but the interior is the same.

It’s just Marshall.

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Serendipitydodah for Moms is a private Facebook group for moms of LGBTQ kids. Our official motto is “Better Together” and our nickname is “Mama Bears” The group is set up so that only members can see who is in the group and what is posted there. It was started in June 2014 and presently has more than 2,000 members. For more info email lizdyer55@gmail.com

Today I’m excited to be sharing two powerful stories with you that have a special connection.

This one from Kimberly Shappley. As early as 18 months old, Kimberly’s son started showing signs that he identified as female. In this essay Kimberly shares her story of being a conservative Christian mom of a trans child, and how and why she learned to embrace Kai’s transition. (This essay was first published by Good Housekeeping in April 2017)

The second story, Affirming Kai, is part of the “Stories That Change The World” series and is written by Kimberly’s friend, Niki Breeser Tschirgi. One of the toughest things that moms of lgbtq kids deal with is the loss of supportive friends and family members … but, thank goodness, there are those friends, like Niki, who don’t abandon us!

If you enjoy these two stories please consider sharing them with your friends.

I remember one night when Kai was very young, and I was tucking her into bed. Her legs felt so cold that I became concerned, lifted the sheets and discovered she had taken a pair of panties off a baby doll and put them on herself. It was constricting her blood circulation and if she’d slept that way overnight, it could have become very dangerous. After that experience, I realized I could no longer ignore something very real about my child:

My son, born Joseph Paul Shappley, is a girl.

I was raised as a devout, conservative Christian with strong Republican values in the South. It’s a place where being different can not only be unforgiving, but unsafe. I had been a leader of a small ministry teaching Bible study at my local church, and I didn’t support or condone those living the “LGBTQ lifestyle.” That was just part what I’d been brought up to believe as a Christian and I knew I’d instill those same principles in my children.

But all of my beliefs and convictions were brought into question when, at 18 months old, Kai began exhibiting very strong female characteristics. From the moment my child was born, everything about Kai was geared toward femininity. She would pull T-shirts down around her waist to make them into skirts. She would tie long-sleeved shirts around her head and pretend it was long hair. I tried to force her to wear clothes with camouflage and superhero patterns, and even gave her severe, flat-top haircuts. Kai has five other siblings who are boys, so it was also a very testosterone-filled family environment, which I thought might help. Everything was fishing and spitting and boy stuff. But Kai just continued to be Kai.

As a Christian mother raising a Christian family, it was a very difficult time for me. I wasn’t ready to give in and allow Kai to transition socially — especially at such a young age. My internal struggle beat me up daily. I felt like I couldn’t go against everything I’d been taught to believe, and yet I also couldn’t let Kai live in such obvious agony. I wasn’t ready to face the fact that my one-and-a-half-year-old child was a girl and that battle lasted for a couple years.

Shortly after Kai turned 2, friends and family were starting to notice her behavior. Living in Pearland, Texas, that meant we were getting a lot of sidelong glances and questions. Kai would only play with other girls and girls’ toys. She said boys were “gross.” Family members were flat-out asking me if she was gay. It made me nervous, and I was constantly worried about what people would think of me, of her, of our family and of my parenting.

While family was questioning whether Kai was gay, a Christian friend of mine, who is also a child psychologist, asked me: “Have you noticed Kai’s feminine behavior?” It was such a gentle question, as opposed to the harsh accusations of others. I said, “I’ve noticed, but I figure she’ll just grow out of it.” I can laugh at that now. It’s so clear, in retrospect, that this was not a passing phase. But when my friend asked me that, I still wasn’t ready to accept it. As I continued to watch my child developing, my friend started pointing out red flags that there was something very real going on. She told me I needed to consider that Kai might be transgender.

By the time Kai was 3 1/2 years old, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. She was verbalizing that she was a girl at least six times a day. Everything was: “I’m a princess” and “I’m a girl.” Every time she’d say something like that, I’d get down on her level and firmly say, “No, you’re a boy.” It never worked. She would correct me by waiting until I was in the middle of something and unable to chase her around, then run into the room and yell, “I’m a girl!” and run out again. I did everything I could think of to cut off that kind of talk. There were time-outs, so many time-outs. There were spankings and yelling matches and endless prayers. I even contacted the daycare Kai attended and asked them to put away every single “girl” toy. They complied with it, but Kai never changed her tune. The tenaciousness and bravery of this child is something from which I’ve learned so much.

I started reaching out to more professionals, including a child psychiatrist who asked me, “If you and Kai were on a deserted island, would you let her wear girls’ clothes?'” I said, “Probably.” The psychiatrist told me it wasn’t God I had a problem with, but what other people would think of my child and me. That really got my gears spinning. I thought, Okay, I could start with girls’ panties. It’s something no one else will see. It took me three or four trips to Walmart until I could finally bring myself to do it. I’d go pick them up and then leave them in the store, crying as I walked out of the automatic doors. I would be so upset, and then I’d feel bad about not getting them. It was something so seemingly small, but it was a huge hurdle to overcome.

Guilt and confusion were eating away at me in a constant battle to find a solution. Kai was still 3 1/2 when I came across Leelah Alcorn’s story online. Leelah, born Josh Alcorn, had voiced a desire to live as a girl. Her parents said that, religiously, they wouldn’t stand for it. Leelah later wrote a note to her parents and a specific passage stuck with me: “Even if you are Christian or against transgender people don’t ever say that to your kid. That won’t do anything but make them hate themselves. That’s exactly what it did to me.” Alcorn’s story ended tragically — she committed suicide because her parents wouldn’t let her be who God designed her to be. That hit too close to home. I’d heard Kai praying to please let Joseph go home and live with Jesus. I mean, this kid was asking the Lord to let her die.

After that, I started studying the Bible more intensely. I was compelled to know as much as I could about Jesus, His nature and character. I would read and reread His interactions with the religious people of the Bible who were always using scripture to justify their hateful actions. I noticed that over and over again Jesus would confront them and challenge them to view the scripture through the lens of love.

Online, I found a secret Facebook community of Christian moms of LGBTQ kids. It’s a beautiful group with a combined total of more than 2,000 moms now. There I found women who would pray with me and for me. They were the least judgmental and loving Christians I have ever met. They let me know I wasn’t alone. Their support and encouragement made me brave enough to rethink what I believed and consider that I might be wrong about some things.

Eventually, when Kai was 4, I was able to allow her to transition. There was still fear and confusion. I was defying the societal and cultural expectations of our community, family and friends. But I knew I had to choose to accept my daughter exactly the way God created her — and there was also a beautiful freedom in that. A few weeks after I stopped punishing Kai for “acting girly,” she put on a wizard robe she’d received as a birthday gift, making it her “first dress.” She stole my headband to make a belt and pulled her hair forward as much as possible.

When I look back at photos of that day, I have mixed emotions: Regret that I made her suffer so long. Pride for what a tough cookie she is. Respect for such a young child who has taught me so much about unconditional love. And then I just laugh … because, how could I ever doubt that this kid is a girl?

While my biggest personal struggle was the choice to let Kai, now 6, transition, my greatest trial as a woman of faith has been the persecution I’ve received from other Christians. Family members, friends and church members have judged our family and ostracized us to the point that we’ve considered moving. I’m so disappointed in the hatred they call “love the sinner, hate the sin.” You cannot have fresh water and salt water from the same spring. But despite the ignorance and hurtful words of others, I choose to arm myself with knowledge. I have to face the fact that my child is at the highest risk of suicide and/or being murdered in a hate crime and I have to do everything I can to compensate for the obstacles that Kai will face. I have to do everything I can to give Kai every opportunity to grow into a whole and healthy adult. That’s my job as her mother.

I have surrounded my family with transgender men and women who are leaders in the community. They encourage Kai to be proud of who she is and where she comes from. We’re building a stronger community together. When Kai was finally allowed to be her true self, she blossomed. I put princess panties in her drawer and she fell to the ground, hugging those panties and sobbing, saying, “Thank you, Mommy, thank you.” Within a few short weeks of letting her transition, she was no longer lying, no bed-wetting, no more nightmares. I now have a happy, healthy, outgoing, loving, beautiful, sweet little girl who loves Jesus and loves her brothers.

Yes, the emotional challenge has been great, but I’d rather face that challenge myself than have my child face it alone like so many transgender children have because their parents won’t let them transition.

There’s never been a moment of doubt or regret after making the choice to let Kai transition. I’ve learned too much about identity and faith in loving my beautiful daughter exactly the way she is.

She’s a loud, happy and joyful girl who expects that everybody’s going to be kind and good. It’s her persistent spirit that has enabled her to transition so young. She knows who she is and has no problem making sure that everyone else knows too.

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Serendipitydodah for Moms is a private Facebook group for moms of LGBTQ kids. Our official motto is “We Are Better Together” and our nickname is “Mama Bears” The group is set up so that only members can see who is in the group and what is posted there. It was started in June 2014 and presently has more than 2,000 members. For more info email lizdyer55@gmail.com

And this one by a Kimberly‘s friend, Niki Breeser Tschirgi. One of the toughest things that moms of lgbtq kids deal with is the loss of supportive friends and family members … but, thank goodness, there are those friends, like Niki, who don’t abandon us!

If you enjoy these two stories please consider sharing them with your friends.

Every child deserves to be loved and deserves to be safe. As a former foster parent and an adoptive mom of six, I believe this deep down to the very depths of my soul. I will always affirm a mother loving her child. Always. I affirm friendship. I affirm love. So, when a friend I love came to me with her incredible burden to help children and a raging personal storm in her life regarding her family, I did what I knew I needed to do. What I wanted to do. I affirmed her, and I affirmed her child.

One definition of affirm means to offer emotional support or encouragement. To support means to bear all or part of the weight. To hold up. To carry, prop up, brace, shore up, to back, champion, help, assist, stand behind, or defend. Support also means approval, encouragement, to comfort, friendship, strength, consolation, solace, and relief…and here we are just defining the word support.

What about the word encouragement? To encourage means to give support, confidence or hope to someone. To hearten, cheer, buoy up, uplift, inspire, spur on, fire up, revitalize, embolden. Some synonyms of encourage are promising, hopeful, reassuring, cheering, comforting, supportive, understanding, helpful, and positive. Are those enough definitions to give you an idea about affirming one another? About affirming one another in love?

Affirmation requires action.

I have known Kimberly for over a decade. Our friendship began in an apartment building one August afternoon in hot and incredibly humid Texas. My husband and I had moved down to the Houston area for his training in graduate school ., and Kimberly was one of the first smiling faces I met as a young, bewildered mother of two who was trying to plant her roots down deep in Texas soil. Not an easy feat for a girl who grew up in Alaska and had just moved down from Washington State. Kimberly introduced me to cabbage and sausage fried in butter and Blue Bell ice cream. She introduced me to southern hospitality and southern friendship. Here was a single mother of five working her tail off to make ends meet. I had made my first new friend in my new city and my lonely heart lifted a notch out of my gut.

Fast forward a decade and now thousands of miles apart. Kimberly and I have remained friends. While visiting Las Vegas I spent time with her adult daughter and met her granddaughter. As Kimberly pushed, sweated, and groaned her way through nursing school, I prayed and supported from afar. I was delighted to stay updated on her progress in school. She never ceased to amaze me with what she could accomplish, even with all her children under her care.

Then I received a Facebook message from her. I wish I still had the message to put in this post, but I don’t. Kimberly was letting me know that her son, born Joseph Paul, was now her daughter going by the name of “Kai”… and was transgender.She wanted me to know that she understood if I didn’t want to be friends anymore because she had already lost most of her family and friends but was inviting me to like her new Facebook account if I wanted to continue in our friendship. Shocked that my friend was abandoned by those she counted closest, I stared gazing at my screen, formulating what to say to her and immediately wrote her back.

I told her I loved her and that in no uncertain way that I wanted to remain friends with her. I might not understand everything, but I wasn’t going anywhere and I would pray for wisdom and love to reign.

Later, while the media storm was erupting around her, her daughter, bathroom rights, and her passionate stance to protect her daughter, Kimberly told me her story. I could feel her remorse through the telephone of how she had done things wrong, but also her hope for the future of doing things right. From Kimberly’s earliest memories of Kai, she noticed that this child’s temperament was more like her oldest daughters than her other sons. Then, around the age of two, a family member asked if her child was gay because of this child’s flamboyant nature and love for all things girly. At the tender age of two-and-a-half, Kai announced she was a girl. Not long after that, a friend who is a Christian Psychologist asked her if she, Kimberly, noticed anything different about her child and discussed with her the science behind gender dysphoria. Then, at the age of four, Kai became adamant that she wouldn’t pretend “to be a boy” anymore.

Kimberly shared with me, that in her ignorance, she began to google conversion therapy and how to implement it. She asked the daycare to put away all girly toys and when her child insisted, “I am a girl”, she and others would get down on the child’s level and look Kai in the eyes and firmly tell her, “No. You are a boy.” Her child went into deep depression. Haircuts became a nightmare of screaming, “Stop. Stop. Please don’t mommy. Please don’t let them cut my hair.” But Kimberly was adamant her child had a boy haircut, boy- themed birthday parties, and boy- themed toys. She edited nearly every picture of Kai before sharing with family. Pictures taken around her home of Kai always had her in a t-shirt dress. Since before two years old she would make dresses and skirts from her shirts. She would use anything to make headbands. She cropped and manipulated photos so her family didn’t know that her son wanted to be a girl.

One day, after daycare, Kai got into the car sobbing. Kai’s best friend had a birthday party and Kai wasn’t invited because according to her best friend’s dad, “It was a girl party and Kai was a freak.” That night, Kimberly walked in on her sweet child praying for Joseph to go to heaven and live with Jesus. Kai was begging the Lord to let her die. At the age of four, Kai was praying for death. This was the moment that helped Kimberly realize transition for her child was necessary. She didn’t know how to do it, but she needed to help her child. The suicide rate for transgender youth is 41%. The American Academy of Pediatrics, Center for Disease Control, and the Trans Youth Project from the University of Washington all agree that transgender youth who are supported by family, peers, and community fare far better, than those who aren’t supported. Some research seems to reflect transgender youth who are accepted, supported, and validated have no higher risk of depression nor suicide attempts than their peers. Kai was not going to be a statistic on Kimberly’s watch if she could help it.

Armed with a scorching desire to help her child, Kimberly began her research regarding gender dysphoria in children and read studies from the American Academy of Pediatrics, American Psychological Association, and the University of Washington. She reached out to other moms of transgender children and was loved and supported by secret groups of loving, hurting, prayerful Christian moms of LGBTQ children. Here, Kimberly found that she was not alone and that others too had been abandoned by family and friends. She found an entire community hurting and desperately seeking to connect with others who would stand with them, not against them – those who would love them, not hate them.

Over the past year Kimberly has steadfastly fought for the rights of her daughter and the rights of other LGBTQ children. Some of her endeavors have included testifying before the Texas senate, speaking at press conferences, meeting with elected officials both in Texas and Washington D.C., filming PSA’s, and sharing her story with The Today Show, Vice HBO and Good Housekeeping.

Over twenty years ago, in my second year of college, I prayed a prayer. The prayer was, “Lord, what have you called me to do?” Quietly and gently He whispered to my heart, “Niki, I have called you to love people.” That moment with God has never left me. Ever. Over the past twenty years I haven’t done this calling perfectly, but I have tried to give it my best.

I may not have all the answers to the questions surrounding the plight of our LGBTQ community, but I do know the answer is not hate. Plainly, and clearly, it is love.

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About the Author: Niki Breeser Tschirgi

Niki Breeser Tschirgi is a stay-at-home mom who resides in Spokane, Washington, with her husband, Matt; six adopted children (four boys still at home, ages eleven through sixteen); and Moose, her standard poodle. She discovered her love for writing in the seventh grade and studied creative writing at the University of Idaho. Niki wrote for Blindigo online magazine while living in Houston, Texas, and over the years has published several blogs, including “The Stars Are Bright—How a Northern Girl Became a Southern Woman and Everything In-Between” and “Rock a Child’s World,” a blog that raised awareness for adoption in Texas. Niki’s first book, Growing up Alaska is a memoir about her crazy, freezing childhood in the interior of Alaska. Niki’s second book, Stretch-mark My Heart, shares her family’s adoption journey through the US foster care system. When she isn’t writing, doing laundry, loading dishes, or sweeping the floor, Niki can be found reading, practicing yoga, or paddle boarding with her kids. To connect with Niki, follow her on Facebook, Twitter or check out her website, Growing up in Alaska

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Serendipitydodah for Moms is a private Facebook group for moms of LGBTQ kids. Our official motto is “We Are Better Together” and our nickname is “Mama Bears” The group is set up so that only members can see who is in the group and what is posted there. It was started in June 2014 and presently has more than 2,000 members. For more info email lizdyer55@gmail.com

Twelve and a half years ago, I became the mama of a sweet, happy, perfect-in-every-way baby with a head full of hair and bright blue eyes. If you know me in real life or through social media, you know Roxy as a smart, talented, bad ass who excels at everything she tries. Art, music, writing … there’s nothing this kid can’t do. Her greatest quality, though, is the confidence she’s always had to be her true self, regardless of what anybody else thinks.

Which is why sharing this is scarier for me than it is for her … ummm, actually, it’s “him” now.

Earlier this summer, Roxy told us she identifies as a boy and wants to be referred to as “him.” A few days later, he told us to start calling him Ray, a variation of his middle name (Rae.) Our family is a huge supporter of the LGBT society, so this change was met with a little bit of surprise, but not even a hint of negativity. Kai and Marley said “okay, cool” and kept right on playing. Henry and I hugged Ray and reassured him we would always love and support him no matter what, which he, in typical tween fashion, rolled his eyes at and said “I knowwwwww.”

Since that day, we’ve slipped up about a thousand times and used the wrong name or pronoun by accident. (Twelve year habits are hard to break!) But within the last few weeks, we’ve gotten so good at saying “he” and “Ray” that every time I post something about the kids, it feels so wrong to type the name Roxy.

So why didn’t I share this sooner?

Why have I been so scared to make it official?

Because while we will absolutely love our kids no matter who they love or how they identify, the rest of the world isn’t so kind to people who don’t fit into society’s narrow definition of “normal.” As parents, our top priority has always been to keep our kids safe. Sharing this change feels scary because the world can be a scary place for the LGBT community. I haven’t shed a single tear over Roxy becoming Ray, but I have cried myself to sleep at night worrying about how much more difficult his life will be now.

But I knew I wanted to say this out loud because not saying it out loud might look like I’m trying to hide something and nothing could be further from the truth. I wanted to say this out loud because I don’t want anyone to think we are ashamed or embarrassed by this because that simply isn’t the case.

For twelve years, I’ve talked about my amazing daughter Roxy and how incredibly proud I am of her. And now I’m here to tell you about my amazing son Ray and how incredibly proud I am of him. He’s a smart, talented, bad ass who excels at everything he tries. Art, music, writing … there’s nothing this kid can’t do. His greatest quality, though, is the confidence he’s always had to be his true self, regardless of what anybody else thinks.

And I couldn’t possibly love him more. ❤️

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Serendipitydodah for Moms is a private Facebook group for moms of LGBTQ kids. Our official motto is “We Are Better Together” and our nickname is “Mama Bears” The group is set up so that only members can see who is in the group and what is posted there. It was started in June 2014 and presently has more than 2,000 members. For more info email lizdyer55@gmail.com

I was the last to check in and the first to give birth that early April morning twenty-three years ago. We lived in a rural community, and every birthing room was full, so my husband and I were ushered into a storage room at the end of the hall. (No lie.) Thankfully, it had an old surgical bed.

I didn’t mind the solitude as I prepared to deliver, and the lack of modern amenities didn’t concern me, either. I knew my baby would come out no matter the room’s aesthetics.

Little did I know it wasn’t the only time she’d come out.

Eighteen years later, she sat at our kitchen counter, looked at us with her big, brown eyes, and declared, “I’m gay.” I say declare because she shared with us her same-sex attraction several times before, but it was always in the realm of “I think I am, or I might be.” It was never definitive, so we passed it off as normal adolescent development, or the desire to have close girlfriends after being bullied for a lot of her school years. (She has Dyslexia, so school was hard.) She longed to be part of the “in” crowd that made good grades.

This time felt different though, and it came at a time when we saw defiant behavior in her we’d never seen before. It was troubling on many levels.

Not only did we have to work through the conservative Christian theology we’d been taught for years (which took months to unravel), but we also found ourselves worried about where this new declaration would lead because of her actions. Our hearts were torn. We loved her but knew the future could be rough if she kept heading in the current direction.

Little did we know an encounter with a church leader set off that behavior.

Months prior, our daughter shared with one of her youth group friends that she thought she was gay, and the leaders found out. They pulled her aside and informed her that unless she changed, God would never love her and she couldn’t attend the group. We weren’t members of that church anymore, so we had no clue this happened until months after she came out to us. We just knew her usually sunny disposition had changed.

When she finally had the guts to tell us what the church leaders said, I immediately responded, “You need to know it’s a lie! God DOES love you, honey, very, very much!” I may not have worked through my theology yet, but I knew that one truth for sure.

But the damage had been done.

She wasn’t open to God anymore.

That set off the desire for me to do due diligence when it came to studying the verses on homosexuality. I could no longer ignore the tension in my heart that couldn’t reconcile the Evangelical view of those scriptures with God’s love. I enrolled in ministry school and learned how to study root words, historical context, the author’s original intent, and how the people who lived at the time would view those verses. I asked God questions with open curiosity rather than trying to get answers to prove my already ingrained theology.

Where He led me was surprising. He’d been (and is) grossly misrepresented. And I was just as guilty.

My plea became, “Father, what can I do to help heal my daughter’s heart?”

“Every time you see her, hug her neck, kiss her cheek, and tell her you love her.” That was God’s response and became my practice. It still is.

Slowly, I watched her heart unfold to the possibility that she wasn’t an abomination.

Every time I kiss her cheek, hug her tight and declare my love for her, she smiles and her eyes crinkle. Almost three years have passed since I started that delightful practice, and she’s gained confidence, strength, and is beginning to thrive in her unique identity.

She even calls herself God’s secret weapon. J

When I look back over these past few years, I realize I’ve witnessed the birthing of a heart – not just hers – but our whole family’s as well.

Love is a mighty, mighty thing.

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Be sure and check out Chris’s site Better thought lgbtq where she hopes to help Christian families hope, heal and love through better thoughts and a spiritual focus.

People who have known me for many years wonder what happened. They think I am not the same person I was before. In a way, they are correct. I am the same loving, caring person I have always been. I am the same strong Christian I have always been. What has changed is my understanding of what God calls sin.

I was brought up in a strict church. It was not as strict as others I have seen. One church I was in was so strict I would classify it as a cult. I didn’t stay there long. Although I was taught certain things were sins, I always wondered why some sins seemed to be condemned by Christians more than others. In school we were taught to think for ourselves and not just follow the crowd on stuff. Even in church, I learned to “try the spirits” to discern if they were of God or not. For this reason, I always questioned if what someone said from the pulpit was really what the Bible said or not.

Most of the time, I discovered it was indeed what the Bible taught; however, I was still struggling with what the church called sin that seemed to me may not actually be sin. This included divorce, people living together in a committed relationship, homosexuality, and other such sexual questions. One day, about 5 years ago, a friend introduced me to the teachings of Martin Luther. I had known that Luther was the spark for the Protestant movement, but I had never been taught his beliefs on sexuality. The church steers clear of such matters! I read his thoughts on the subject and found it intriguing. So I began to study the Scriptures about human sexuality.

For my study, I consulted Greek or Hebrew dictionaries to see what the original texts said and what the original words meant. During the course of my study, which took three years to complete, I discovered that Sodom and Gomorrah were not destroyed because of homosexuality. This captured my attention! I continued to study and eventually came to the conclusion that homosexuality was not a sin.

At this time, I was still in my Southern Baptist Church. My daughter had a group of friends at school who had, at various times, came out as lesbian, bisexual, or transgender. I loved these kids very much. My daughter loved these kids too. She came out in support of them. What I didn’t know at the time is she was pansexual. I tried to get my daughter to not be so vocal about her support, especially at church, because these people would not like it. I too kept my mouth shut about being affirming, though I did start saying things like we needed to show love to the LBGT community if we wanted them to see the Christ we serve. I took a lot of ridicule from people who “loved the sinner but hated the sin.” Since I didn’t think it was a sin, I didn’t agree, and their actions didn’t seem loving to me. So, I continued to remain silent.

Then my daughter came out to me. Again, I encouraged her to remain silent. She did tell a small group of friends she thought she could trust, including one youth leader. She soon found out that the youth leader told a pastor.

She began to get bullied by “friends” in the church and she even got bullied by some of the leadership. While traveling to a mission trip with other kids, one of the girls asked her about what groups she was in at church. She mentioned GSA. The girl asked what it was and she told her Gay Straight Alliance. Well, my daughter, unbeknown to me, had been told she was not allowed to discuss homosexuality on this trip. She attempted to change the subject but the girl kept asking questions. Also unknown to me or my daughter, the woman in the car had been told to report back to the youth pastor if my daughter talked about it.

Next thing you know, she is being disciplined for talking about it. She tried to say she was just responding to a question and tried to change the subject and the adult woman called her a liar! She had to watch everything she said or did the rest of the week.

A year later, she still hasn’t come out, as I wasn’t letting her. Only her family and those few close friends knew she was more than affirming. It came time for the mission trip again and she was told she could not go. When I asked why, I was told she was being disciplined for disrespect. I called for a meeting to find out what was going on, and it was very clear they were disguising punishing her for supporting gay rights, not for being disrespectful. They wanted her to follow a “discipleship plan” that included a book criticizing the “gay agenda” as well as reporting to a staff member about that book, another book, and sexuality! This was all while she was a senior studying for finals at high school.

We left the church that day and never looked back. That week, my daughter came out publicly. I came out as affirming publicly. A week later another daughter also came out publicly as pansexual. A dear friend seeing the attacks we were getting on Facebook from our fellow “Christians” let me know about a support group for moms like me. After joining that group, I began to feel sad for the way I had stifled my daughter and very burdened for the way the LBGT community was being treated.

Thanks to being in a group of loving mama bears, I have been able to openly support the LBGT community. I have joined Equality Virginia so that I might be able to do more than just talk about it. My LBGT friends I have had for years always knew I loved them and did not condemn them, but now they have an ally, which is even better. I have always loved unconditionally, but I never knew that loving unconditionally would help in dealing with some very unloving “fellow Christians.”

I am so thankful to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I am thankful that He saves from all our sins, including being judgmental. I am thankful that I have learned the phrase “Gay Christian” is not an oxymoron! Looking forward to many more years serving the Lord and loving unconditionally.